


It All Started With a Donut...

by Pineprin137



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Car sick?, Caretaker Jared, Carsick, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fever, M/M, Nausea, POV Jensen, Sick Jared, Sick Jensen, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineprin137/pseuds/Pineprin137
Summary: What started out as the stunt from Hell quickly turned into a night of misery.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to try something a little different. Let me know what y'all think.

“...expect us to be able to do that?” Jared sets his taco back down on his plate. “Dude, are you even listening?” 

My head jerks up. “Sorry,” I say guiltily. “Uh, what were you saying?” 

He sighs. “I was talking about the stunt this afternoon…” 

“Oh! Right, yeah…” During the scene we’re shooting after lunch, the Impala gets possessed and ends up locked in an unstoppable donut. Sounded pretty awesome to me... “What about it?”

“I  _ said _ , do they really expect us to be okay with it.” 

Huh? Jared usually  _ loves  _ car stunts. He doesn’t get to do them as often as me since Dean spends more time in the car. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before-- What’s the big deal?” 

With a look of incredulity on his face, he stares pointedly at his plate… filled to the brim with tacos, burritos, nachos, and guacamole. 

It finally clicks. “Oh.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

It takes less than a minute for me to come up with a simple solution. “Okay, so, don’t eat it then.” 

He balks. “It’s Cinco De Mayo! I  _ always  _ have tacos for lunch!” 

I sigh. “Then eat your tacos but leave the rest…” 

“My chips will get soggy!” He’s acting like it’s the end of the world. It’s just nachos. Besides, I’m sure Craft Services wouldn’t mind keeping some warm for him. Hell, we probably have enough leftover steak to make even better ones when we get home. 

“You’re the one worried about getting sick, dude,” I say, shrugging, “It’s your choice.” 

I chuckle when he pouts. He’s utterly adorable when he’s upset. Which is probably why I end up losing about ninety-nine percent of our arguments. 

He’s staring at me. Not in his usual  _ Oh, God, I wish I could kiss you right now but we’re at work _ kind of way though. Maybe I have something on my face? ‘ Isn’t hard to do. Whenever Craft Services provides Mexican, I always end with something on my--well,  _ Dean’s--  _ shirt...Or my hands...Or my face… Picking up my napkin, I drag it across my chin. 

His eyes narrow in suspicion. Well, shit-- this can’t be good. 

I wait for him to speak. When he does, his words are slow, deliberate. He says, “Speaking of  _ carsick…  _ why aren’t  _ you  _ worried?” 

Double shit. I’d been hoping it slipped his mind-- which is fairly ridiculous, now that I think about it-- because just last week he had to pull over so I could get out on the way to visit my folks. God knows I love him, but Jared Padalecki can be a menace behind the wheel... 

  
Instead of answering his question, though, I scoff, “ _Pfft!_ I don’t get _carsick_!” Before he can correct me, I hastily add-- “ Besides, I’m the _driver,_ remember?” 


	2. Chapter 2

Jared was right to worry. 

The first three takes, I was fine. Maybe a bit dizzy afterward, but nothing I couldn’t walk off. By the sixth take... I’m starting to feel a little queasy. Again, after a quick break, I’m able to get back in the proverbial saddle. 

Now, as Bob yells “Cut!”, marking the end of number nine, I’m beginning to regret the tacos I had for lunch. Normally, I’d have four, maybe even five-- they’re that damn good-- but today, I settled for only two, knowing I’d be spinning round and round directly after. 

Both Jared and I get out of the car while the crew sets up the next shot. 

Standing with my hands on Baby’s hood, I focus on taking deep breaths... My stomach is churning like crazy, but Jared’s definitely worse off. The poor guy’s already gotten sick twice since we started filming and he sounds about ready to do it again. 

Okay, thinking about Jared chucking his beloved nachos on the side of the road is not helping…

C’ mon, Ackles, focus. Bob said he wants an over to get the ‘full donut’ and one with the dimming light in the background. That’s only two more takes. Letting out a somewhat sick burp, I groan and drop my head to the roof. 

As soon as this is over, I plan on lying down in my trailer to sleep it off… shooting schedule be damned. 

With one last steadying breath, I push off the car to go check on Jared. He’s bent over with his hands on his knees. 

Walking up to him, I place my hand on his shoulder. “You okay, babe?” There’s no one around, and I know he’s feeling like shit, so I risk the pet name. 

“Ugh! Why’d I eat so much…” he groans. 

Although I know the answer to that, I wisely keep my mouth shut. Chances are if I pointed out that this is kind of his own fault, he wouldn’t take it well. And I don’t feel like getting punched right now. 

Instead, I make a sympathetic sound, rub my hand over his back. “You gonna make it?” I ask him, “‘Cause it sounds like Bob wants two more…” 

“Oh, God…” My sentiments exactly, babe. 

“Yeah, he wants one with the sun going down and another over--” Another burp catches me off guard and for a second, I think I’m gonna lose it. 

“... Jen?” 

I open my eyes to see Jared and half the crew watching me. Wow, thanks. That’s not super uncomfortable at all...

Swallowing down something that is definitely  _ not  _ just spit, I fib. “I’m good.” 

He doesn’t look convinced, but we’re out of time. Bob’s yelling for us to get back in the car so we can go again. Sharing a resigned look, Jared and I square our shoulders and get back to work. 

  
  


_ Dean grips the wheel of the car tightly, fighting to pull the Impala out of the spin while Sam braces himself against the dash. He can’t tell where they are or even what’s around them anymore… she’s going too fast.  _

_ Squinting, he tries to catch sight of the speedometer. The needle is hovering right around eighty.  _

_ “De-an…!” The waver in his brother’s voice isn’t particularly comforting. He looks over to see Sammy’s face turn green.  _

_ “Hold on!”  _

I barely get the line out before I have to slam on the brakes and throw the door open. Vomit splashes messily onto the dirt as the car slides to a stop. The sound of me being sick must be too much for Jared, because next thing I know, I hear the squeak of his door and even louder retching. 

“CUT!” Bob yells belatedly from his chair. 

‘No shit, sherlock’, I want to snark. Instead, I open my mouth and promptly vomit again. 

Someone comes over to the car, but I can’t see who it is thanks to the sun setting behind them. The shadowy figure offers me a bottle of water, but I hold off on taking it just yet. My stomach is still in turmoil, trying to decide whether or not to add my breakfast to the puddle of greasy sludge outside the door. With a massive burp, the choice is made. 

Whoever-my-savior-is quickly steps back as oatmeal and coffee join the party. 

“You done?” A familiar voice asks gruffly. 

Spitting to clear my mouth, I give Clif a shaky thumbs up then accept the water. Knowing it’s him actually helps me feel a little less embarrassed. Dude’s seen both me  _ and  _ Jared toss our cookies on more than one occasion. 

With me sorted, he moves around to the other side to help Jared. 

I sit back against the Impala’s sun-warmed vinyl and close my eyes, willing my equilibrium to reset. The seat shifts when Jared does the same. No one able to see us, I reach over, squeeze the back of his neck. 

“You okay?” I ask quietly. 

He shrugs beneath my touch. “I don’t think I’m gonna eat tacos anytime soon--but yeah. How ‘bout you?” 

I burp softly, grimacing when it tastes like Mexican oatmeal. Jared chuckles, “That good, huh?” 

It takes quite a while before I’m able to open my eyes. And though my stomach still has a slight just-got-off-a-roller-coaster feel to it, I manage to walk over to Bob in a mostly straight line. 

He doesn’t even try to convince us to go again-- one look at us and he could see, we were done. 

“Never. Again.” I tell him. 

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, I get it-- it was a shitty day. But we  _ did  _ get the shot, so at least it wasn’t worth nothing, right?” 

My stomach chooses that exact moment to force up the remaining coffee-stained bile. I manage to turn away in the nick of time, but Bob still looks horrified by the close-call. 

Jared holds me steady while I cough and choke. Straightening, I accept the towel someone hands me to clean off. Jared passes me the almost-empty water bottle. I take a few small sips then turn back to our director. 

“Sorry.” 

He just shakes his head. “You guys did good--” I cringe and Jared snorts beside me. Bob ignores us. “Why don’t you head back to the lot, get cleaned up?”

I look up in surprise. We still have another quarter-page of dialogue to finish… 

Bob shakes his head. “We’re done for today. You boys earned an early night.” 

“You sure, Bob?” Jared asks. 

I fight the urge to smack him upside the back of the head. Of course, he’s sure, you loveable idiot! Don’t look a director gift horse in the mouth.

“Yeah, you did good--” 

Seriously?  _ Again _ ? I roll my eyes. 

Bob continues, “-- We got the donut scene finished. We’ll pick up at the cafe tomorrow morning.” 

Before Jared can open his mouth, i.e. ruin our unexpected night off, I butt in. “Copy that. Same call time?” 

Bob nods-- then amends, “Maybe half an hour earlier? Think you guys can swing that?” 

“Gosh, I don’t know,” I joke, “I’ll have to check my schedule…” 

Bob gives me his unamused-Dad look. “ _ Smartass _ .” 

“You know it.” I look at Jared, share a quick silent communique. He nods. I say aloud, “We’ll be there.”

Since we filmed outside of Whistler today, the drive home takes about an hour. Jared spends the time snoring in the back while Clif and I discuss last night’s game and go over the pick-up details for tomorrow. 

I’m not sure if it’s an aftertaste of today’s events or what, but my stomach still feels a little off during the car ride. I’m definitely looking forward to collapsing on the bed when we get home. 


	3. Chapter 3

The sun has gone down by the time we get back to Jared’s house-- He insists on calling it our ‘love nest’. I insist that phrase makes us sound like we’re freakin’ birds or some shit. He still calls it that.

Somehow, he has an appetite--so, he heads into the kitchen to make ‘a snack’ while I opt for a quick shower. I had fully intended to just crash, but now that we’re home, the siren call of the massive shower is too sweet. 

For the first few minutes, I just let the water rain down on me. Head ducked, hands against the wall, it runs over my back to soothe the ache that comes from forcing the entirety of your stomach contents up your throat. My belly is still tender as well, barely brushing over it makes me wince. 

While I’m lost in the serenity of eight massaging jets, the bathroom door opens and Jared shuffles in. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asks as he lifts the toilet lid. 

“I’m alright,” I say, sliding the soapy loofa across my chest, under my armpits. “You?” 

He finishes peeing but doesn’t flush since he knows I’d tear him a new one if he deprived me of glorious hot water. Instead, he washes his hands, starts brushing his teeth. “Berrer aher I ae.” 

I open the shower door to stare at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Toothpaste, what was that?” 

Spitting a mouthful of minty foam into the sink, he tries again. “Better after I ate. I mean, aren’t you hungry, Jen? I swear you puked up a week’s worth of food...” 

Swallowing hard against that  _ lovely  _ imagery, I rinse off then grab a towel to wrap around my hips. “Not really,” I admit, shrugging. I grab a second towel to dry off my hair, toss it in the hamper as I walk into the bedroom. After flushing the toilet - _ good, boy _ \-- Jared follows me. 

“Really?” he asks, sounding incredulous. “I was starving by the time we got home!” 

“Good for you.” I glance over my shoulder at him while I dress. “I’m not hungry, just sore and tired. My abs are killing me...” 

Jared chuckles. “No argument here, man.” 

After donning my nightclothes-- a loose tee shirt and boxer shorts-- I venture down to the living room. Jared will probably end up watching the game from last night since he fell asleep before it ended, but I’ve already seen it so reading seems like a good alternative. 

Tonight’s pick is some hippy-dippy new age-y book about balancing your life. And while I usually shy away from that shit, this one has resonated with me. 

Life as an actor isn’t easy when it comes to maintaining close relationships. Your schedule constantly changes and uncertainty abounds. Will I be home for Christmas? I hope so, but it depends on whether I can get a flight back from wherever I’ll be then. Hell, most of the time, I only get to talk to my friends once a month--if I’m lucky. 

Of course, work friends don’t count as I see them at network functions or cons. And obviously, Jared and my’s relationship couldn’t  _ be  _ any closer. He’s my partner, my lover, my best friend in the whole wide world. I’ll never say it out loud-- because it would probably cause a fandom overload-- but Jared Padalecki completes me. 

“Gonna watch the game?” I ask when he sits down beside me on the couch. 

“Yeah--Can’t believe I fell asleep during the final quarter!” 

I chuckle. It was rather surprising to look over last night and find him with his head thrown back, eyes closed, totally knocked out. I wasn’t sure when he fell asleep because  _ I  _ had been a good fan, keeping my eyes glued to the screen as the time ticked down. 

We cozy up, my feet tucked into his side while I read and he shouts at the TV. 

The book is quite compelling in actuality. The concepts are easy to understand and even though the title suggests it was written by someone who took one too many hits of dope in the seventies, the book itself is pretty straight forward. 

I only put it down about half-way through the game to get a glass of water... and a turkey sandwich--because  _ apparently _ , according to Jared, if I don’t eat before going to bed, my stomach will be making wounded animal noises at three in the morning. 

I’m torn between feeling offended by his description and being warmed by his concern. Regardless, I eat the sandwich.

We turn in a little after eleven, which is early for us, but we had a hard day. Jared snuggles up to my back, his arm draped loosely over my hip, his breath tickling the nape of my neck. After reaching up to shut the lamp off, we both fall asleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

I startle into awakeness with the realization that I’m about to be sick. Luckily, Jared rolled over to his side at some point, so I don’t have to worry about trying to free myself from his grasp. Slapping a hand over my mouth to hold back the torrent of liquid pushing against the back of my teeth, I sprint into the bathroom. 

My knees hit the floor hard, but my brain only spares a brief moment for the pain before a second heave has me practically throwing myself over the bowl. Vomit pours from my mouth and nose, hitting the water so hard it splashes back onto my face. 

During a way-too-short lull, I’m able to assess how I’m feeling and the answer is: like crap. My entire body is shivering, whether from the surge of illness or chills, I’m not sure yet. My head aches something terrible. It feels like that time I stupidly agreed to a drinking contest with Jared and ended up passed out in the bathtub.

And then, there’s the sweat... My shorts are so soaked it looks like I peed myself. 

The vomiting resumes with a painful wringing of my insides. I grip the toilet seat for all I’m worth in an attempt to keep upright. Below deck, things are rumbling and I pray to God this won’t be a two-for-one. 

“Okay...I gotcha…You’re alright…” Jared’s thick drawl is beyond comforting; it’s the best damn thing I’ve ever heard. As soon as the intense heaving tapers off, I happily fall back against him. 

He reaches over to flush the toilet then uses my towel from earlier to clean me up. 

He smoothes a hand down my face, cups my jaw. My stomach cramps. I must wince because his hand moves down to my belly. He slips it underneath my shirt then gently rubs. 

On one hand, it feels wonderful, soothing my overworked muscles and serving as a much-needed point-of-contact. But on the other… 

“Jay, stop…” I moan. 

He immediately stills. “Do you need to get sick again?” he asks. 

Something shifts deep in my gut. Oh, no… “I- I need up. Help me up.” My voice is breathy, yet borderline frantic. I can’t help it though, the cramping is getting worse. 

Jared helps me stand. Vertigo hits and I gag, something sticky dripping from my bottom lip. Jared reaches for the trash can. Shoving my sweaty boxers down, I practically fall onto the toilet seat. My stomach twists. Jared kneels in front of me, holds the bin for me to throw up into as my bowels void noisily. 

“Oh, honey…” Jared offers his sympathy in the only way he can, supporting me so I don’t fall forward and placing a damp washcloth on the back of my neck. 

Half an hour passes by in a horrible blur of terrible cramps and disgusting sounds. When my body finally calms I feel so weak I can barely move. Jared leaves to get me a change of clothes, allowing me a little privacy to finish clean up, then helps me rinse off in the shower. His touch is extremely gentle as if one wrong move might break me. 

Back in fresh clothes, I give my teeth a very cursory brushing (avoiding anything that might make me gag anew) then let Jared carry me back to bed. Normally, I’d give him hell if he tried to manhandle me, but right now, I’m about to fall asleep, standing on wobbly legs. 

I wake up twice more during the night. Once, to dry heave loudly over the large bowl Jared placed on the nightstand, and then, again, to throw up the meager amount of water I’d drunk after rinsing my mouth out. 

Suffice to say, when the alarm goes off at six, I barely register it before rolling over to shove my face in Jared’s pillow. 


	5. Chapter 5

Unable to fully fall asleep because I kind of need to pee but  _ really _ don’t want to try walking all the way to the bathroom, I hear Jared talking on the phone in the other room. 

_ “I don’t think so. He was barely able to get back to bed… Seriously, dude-- I had to carry him.” _

If I had the energy, I would roll my eyes. Whoever he’s talking to definitely didn’t need to know that detail. 

_ “I don’t know... Yeah, he seemed fine when we got home... Maybe a little tired?” _

No shit, babe. 

_ “No, it was after we went to bed. I don’t know, okay? I was asleep-- heard him rush into the bathroom. When I got there, he was practically in the fucking bowl.”  _

Okay, if he’s dropping f-bombs, it wouldn’t be Bob or Andrew. Maybe Clif? 

_ “I don’t know. He’s still asleep… Yeah, alright. I’ll let you know, but for now, count on it just being me.”  _

Yup, must be Clif. 

He walks back into the bedroom after hanging up, sits on the edge of the bed. I roll over to nuzzle against his thigh. Mmm, he’s so freaking warm. I pull the blanket around me before cuddling even closer. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” he says, combing his fingers through my hair. I can only imagine how bad it looks right now… “How are you feeling?” 

I decide to go with short and simple. “Sick.” 

“Yeah, it hit you pretty damn hard…” 

“Mhmm.” As his body heat seeps into my chilled bones, I’m finding it harder to keep my eyes open. 

“I called Bob,” Jared continues, “let him know that you probably won’t be in until later.” 

“Was that who was on the phone?” I mumble into his pant leg. 

“Oh, no. I called Clif to let him know it would only be me this morning. I spoke to Bob before I had breakfast.” 

At the mention of food, my stomach gurgles unhappily. We both stay perfectly still, waiting to see if I need to make a run for it. When nothing further happens, I release a cautious breath. 

“Good?” he asks, one hand on the sick bowl in case I need it. 

I nod. He gets up to finish getting ready and I gingerly make my way into the bathroom to pee. The trip back to the bed uses up what little energy I have so I just sort of fall to the side after sitting. 

Jared’s watching me with an amused look on his face. I huff indignantly, groping for the covers. 

“So… that’s a definite ‘no’ on you coming in, right?” 

Grunting, I attempt to lift my head up high enough to see the clock. Nope, not happening. “What time ’s it?” 

“Almost seven.” 

“Ughhh.” Such eloquence… Mama would be proud. “Do I  _ have to _ …?” 

The fucker actually laughs at my misery! 

“Well, you don’t  _ have to _ , but you  _ do  _ have to show up at some point today. The question is whether you want to spend the hour-long ride curled up next to me or alone with Clif.” 

Dammit. He has a point. As much as I’d love to stay nestled in the covers, I’d rather not be stuck with Clif and his pitying glances. Because that always happens when someone is sick in a car. The other people try to act like they’re not on high alert, but they are. Just waiting for you to sniffle or, God forbid, actually puke. 

“ _ Fine _ ,” I huff. Jared must have been expecting that answer because next thing I know, a pair of jeans are tossed on the bed. I snort in derision. There’s no way in Hell I’m going to wear jeans until I absolutely have to. 

After a long tiring game of  _ Why is Jared looking in the closet-- He should be happy I’m not going to set in my pajamas _ , I lay down on the living room couch in a pair of black sweats and matching hoodie to wait for Clif to arrive. Jared spends the time trying to convince me to drink some tea-- “Not happening, Jay.”--eat something-- “But I  _ just  _ stopped throwing up!”-- and sorting out my hair. 

“Stop wiggling, Jen. Your hair is a mess.” 

“I don’t care.” Yes, it’s childish. But my stomach cannot handle coffee right now, so I’m a bit grumpy. 

“If you weren’t sick you would. Trust me.” 

He resumes playing with my hair, but honestly? I wish he would stop. Ever since I’d been forced out of bed, my body has been protesting. I’m sweating inside my hoodie but refuse to take it off because then I’ll be freezing and all the movement has upset my stomach to the point that even him just combing my hair has me reluctantly eyeing the sick bowl. 

I wish I could turn over so I didn’t have to see it. The stupid thing is taunting me… just waiting until I can’t fight the nausea anymore. 

It happens just as Clif pulls into the driveway. And the absolute worst part? 

I don’t make it. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short. I'll probably add more to it later, but for now, I just want to get it posted.

“Jensen-- What the hell!” Jared yells as the tea I’d choked down splashes onto the living room carpet. 

In my defense, I _did_ reach for the bowl. I just didn’t quite get it under my chin in time. I would apologize, but apparently I’d drunk more tea then I thought because it’s still coming out. 

With a put-upon sigh that makes me feel guilty as hell, Jared rearranges me so I’m sitting up with the bowl in my lap. He then goes into the kitchen to grab some paper towels. 

_This_ is why I hate getting sick. It’s not the exhaustion or the general grossness that bothers me. No, what really upsets me is the fact that it forces other people to take care of me. They have to stop their lives to clean up after me when I don’t make it in time. 

For fuck’s sake-- I’m a thirty-four-year-old man! I should be able to get my head over the bowl without throwing up on the carpet! But no, when I’m sick, all capability goes out the window. And now, Clif has to wait while Jared cleans up my mess because I physically _can’t_. 

When Jared comes back with a roll of paper towels and a damp cloth in his hands and gives me a reassuring smile, my mood sours even further. He notices and frowns, but has to wait to ask me what’s wrong--which I know he’ll do because he’s the world’s best boyfriend-- until after he cleans up my vomit. 

Disgust boils inside of me. Watching him wipe up _my_ mess. God, I hate this! Am I pouting? Maybe. But I’m sick and I hurt and I feel gross and-- oh god, I’m gonna puke… 

Luckily, this time, it lands _i_ _n_ the bowl. 

“Alright… you’re okay… just breathe, sweetheart.” 

We’re back to pet names-- I can’t decide if that’s worse or better.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post this. I've received several requests to continue/finish it and while I obviously had a plan a few months ago, I couldn't for the life of me remember what that was. So, although I originally had eight chapters planned, I'm going to end it with seven.

Jared’s busy snuggling me on the couch while I doze when someone bangs on the trailer door. 

“Padalecki! You’re on! Let’s go!”

Jared looks at the door and sighs before he leans down to kiss my forehead. “Are you going to be alright?” he asks. 

It’s a dumb question-- there’s no way he can stay here with me all day instead of filming-- but I appreciate the gesture. 

I nod before slinking down into a more comfortable position. Production had been kind enough to splurge on couches that actually fit mine and Jared’s long forms shortly after Season Two. 

“Text me if you need anything,” Jared says, gathering up the stuff he wants to take to set with him. “If I’m not able to get away, I’ll send Clif.” 

I hum in response, already feeling myself drift into sleep. 

He gives me one last kiss before making sure the bin, bottle of Gatorade, and box of tissues are located near enough for me to reach then, leaves. 

  
  


After napping for a few hours, I wake up to nature’s call. Although needing to pee is a good sign, I’m still fairly dehydrated so I settle on the couch with the bottle of Gatorade and a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show. 

It’s the episode when Opie is learning how to deal with bullies. I chuckle when he gut-punches Barney, at the deputy’s request, only to hasten for the trash can when it triggers my gag reflex. 

Shit. I’d been doing so well! 

I grab a tissue to clean my face off then curl up on the couch, feeling miserable and pathetic. A glance at the clock tells me it’s about time for them to let out for lunch. Thank goodness. I’m more than ready for some Jared cuddles. 

“Knock, knock.” 

“Hey,” I say, looking over at Jared when he walks through the door. He has two large styrofoam containers balanced in one hand while he shuts the door. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sitting down beside me. 

I shrug. “Okay,”  _ other than the Gatorade mishap… _ “A little better after my nap. How’s it going out there?” 

“Jesse’s doing alright. Although he definitely hopes you’re feeling well enough to do our big dialogue scene in Bobby’s kitchen later.” He hands me one of the containers. I manage not to grimace. 

“I got you a bagel with cream cheese, butter, and jelly, on the side.” 

I kiss his cheek. “Thanks. I’m not sure I could stomach  _ that _ ,” I say, nodding at his lunch. It looks like they had Greek at Craft Services today. There’s some kind of fattoush salad, a pita with chicken, maybe?. He’s also got falafel and a container of hummus accompanied by pita chips. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “You’re probably right. Garlic isn’t kind to an upset stomach.” 

We spend the duration of Jared’s break watching the TV and idly chatting about our plans for this weekend. 

I’m able to eat a little over half of the bagel and finish off the Gatorade before I start feeling sleepy again. 

Jared snorts when I almost end up with a cheek-full of cream cheese. “C’ mere,” he says, moving the empty food containers out of the way so I can lay down with my head in his lap. He strokes my hair and I fall asleep to the sounds of black-and-white on the TV. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome and much appreciated. 
> 
> P.S. If you'd like to see the clip from The Andy Griffith Show, you can check it out here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sm2tWTZKljI


End file.
